Eff the Tooth Fairy
by VarrosGirly
Summary: Will Tippin finds himself once again a captive of Julian Sark's untrustworthy intentions, but it seems that something quite different to torture is on the table. But what is worse? Sark liking you, you liking Sark, or the fact that you might just be the missing key element to the endgame of Milo Rambaldi's prophecies? If Sark has his way, will Will even care? Chances are: no.


**Title:** F**k The Tooth Fairy  
**Type:** DubCon, Snark, Slash, Kidnap, Angst  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Fandom:** Alias  
**Pairing:** Julian Sark/Will Tippin  
**Setting:** Either after S2 Ep1 "The Enemy Walks In" or S2 Ep2 "Trust Me"  
**Word Count:** 7747  
**Summary:** As if being abducted and tortured one time in his life wasn't enough, Will Tippin finds himself once again a captive of Julian Sark's untrustworthy intentions, waking up, bound to a chair in a large room of some unknown factory, somewhere. It seems this time though, that something quite different to torture is on the table. But what is worse? Sark liking you, you liking Sark, or the fact that you might just be the missing key element to the endgame of Milo Rambaldi's prophecies? It's hard to tell, especially when the enviable Mr Sark has such a way of making you think his ideas are yours. Will's been through Hell, but does it change a man so much that a return trip might just seem like Heaven? If Sark has his way, will Will even care? Chances are; no.

**Warnings:** Obviously this could be spoilerish, so, if you haven't seen the entire Alias series then I suggest you don't read, although so long as you've seen S1 and S2 you SHOULD be fine. Not spiteful smut so if you expect instant sex without substance, turn away now (we're story tellers who like nookie, mkay?). If DubCon elements, kidnap situations or mild use of constraints offends you, this is not the fic for you (although none of these things result in violence or anything squeamish but you have been warned anyway). Fic also deals with a closeted character being forced to deal with their latent/denied homosexuality, so that may be uncomfortable for some. Co-write, so may seem a little choppy in parts, though we are pretty good at flowing back and forth. Sark is written by Jaxon666 and Will by VarrosGirly. Comments welcome, even crit so long as you are not a know-it-all douchebag (who will just have comments deleted anyway, not that it will stop you because you are lame and need a slap). Also, if you are turned on by hot m/m, slash, we warn that this series may make you froth at the mouth. Just saying.

* * *

Will didn't lift his head at first, mostly because this couldn't be happening. Maybe he was hypnotized again, there was something else they needed from his memory. Except...it definitely wasn't that. There was no reassuring voice telling him he'd be ok, and this wasn't the plane. All he remembered was getting back from Sydney's, and then...nothing. Just black. Will finally opened his eyes to look around him, freezing as they found the blonde before him, looking like he was sitting down to some casual dinner. Maybe that was a British sociopath thing. His heart jumped into his throat as Sark sat, methodically removing black, leather gloves.

"Where the hell am I? I don't...I haven't even done anything. I don't know anything. About anyone, or any...anything." The place was some industrial dump, it looked abandoned. Probably somewhere remote, too. Maybe this was a dream. He'd read that post traumatic stress disorder could set in long after incidents occurred. That could be one shred of hope he could hang onto, at least. But it didn't seem too likely.

"Hello Mr. Tippin," Sark said, a tone of voice so psychotically casual for the present predicament he enforced, like kidnap and bondage was no more than a greeting wave to him, which was an additional concern to in fact being taken against your will, and bound, "-or do you prefer Will?" he looked over Will with steady, gentle eyes. He seemed briefly bored and/or bothered as Will's initial panic found a voice, raising the palm of his still gloved hand as if to treat the panic as a sentient being that could understand a gesture to insist it go away.

"There really is no cause for alarm," and ironically, to Sark's understanding, there wasn't, "-do you really think you would still be breathing if I intended you harm a second time? Especially after the last was so,,,unsuccessful." He smirked, as if to mock both Will and even himself, although it was mostly some sort of boastful, reverse psychology pride thing he did to himself, making fun of past failures to prove that they no longer meant anything. He had a sense of humour; easy to do all that when he had Will at his mercy again, now.

"I realise our meeting again might have been unexpected, but if you take a second to gather your thoughts, you will come to realise that you have not been so poorly handled this time around. No aches or pains or bruises found. I had my men go to the liberty of administering a temporary yet very potent sedative in order to bring you in, this time...to show good will. Of course, beating you in the head was the next alternative." He seemed so fond of himself, in a cocky way, and what was even more infuriating was that even that was more muted than expected; he composed himself in such a way that his sophistication did not falter, which was even more egotistical than it attempted not to be. "Champagne?" and though Sark didn't look to them, it became immediately apparent that two glasses stood upon the table to his side.

"No cause for-" he glanced around himself, momentarily dumbstruck. Sark really seemed to think that this was tolerable. Normal, even. Will was too panicked to think clearly enough to find that funny. Maybe Sark had found out that Will had been doing extra work on the side for the CIA, however brief that had been. Surely none of that was so important, though. Random questions. "I...I don't know what people like you do...or want. I'm...I'm a reporter with a smeared reputation, thanks to guys like you. I don't want...this again." Of course, it didn't really matter what he wanted now. Sark had him, and he had way more training than Will could even hope for. Sydney had no idea he was missing, did she? She'd just seen him, why should she even think to check on him?

"Champagne? What...this..." Will shook his head and sat back in his chair, testing the bonds holding his wrists to the cold metal. "No, this...this isn't right. I don't know anything, I'm clean, I haven't even been digging. I appreciate that I didn't have to get the crap beat out of me this time, but...just let me go. I mean, what could you possibly need me for, huh?" He really had no idea what Sark was after now. Or why he needed Will for it.

"I'm not beyond administering a hug, if it is going to make our immediate transactions more tolerable. You seem to have a penchant for those, if previous surveillance serves correctly." Sark quipped, although while it had the bite of sarcasm, it lacked the lilt or warmth of a joke. Even in sarcasm, it seemed that Sark was trying to pass his elocution lessons with unparalleled degrees of excellence. That seemed to be his only great focus, even beyond sniping. He still managed to snipe a little though, didn't he? Always.

"I must inform you that I am well aware of your current relationship with the CIA. However, it might still your anxiety to know that it does not interest me. Tell me Will-" he hadn't given a preference, so Sark would assume whatever took his mood and make no apology for it, "-are you familiar with the name Milo Rambaldi?" he asked, sounding somewhat generously curious, pouring himself a glass of champagne and returning the bottle to it's ice bucket, the cubes rustling around inside the antique looking silver. His eyes opened up before he loosened his grip on the neck of the bottle, as if to ask Will one last time, if he wanted any. It seemed he didn't. Sark didn't insist. That was poor manners.

"A hug from you wouldn't exactly calm me down." Will was cautious, though. Sark could be planning anything. Literally anything. Everything Syd had told him, everything he remembered, it all just reinforced the idea that he never wanted to be in the same room as this bastard again. "I...that's just-" better not to say anything, though, and have no reason to be incriminated by either side "-Milo Rambaldi?" Will frowned, glancing around again. Sark was serious about the champagne, wasn't he? What a time for his English manners to kick in, really. He couldn't have taken that road the last time he'd kidnapped Will?

"It sounds familiar, I probably read it for a story. But um...what does that have to do with...anything?" Syd had talked about it before, not really into great detail, but enough for him to know that Sark was the last person he wanted to be having that conversation with. Something about artefacts. Essentially, the CIA needed to get a hold of them before Sark or SD6 or whoever else was out there did instead. "Ok ok, I could...hell, a glass would be nice...but I can't exactly lift it." And these bonds were not even giving him any wiggle room.

"William," Sark paused, dragging his eyes from a fixation on the ground directly beneath Will's feet, and to the other man's frightened eyes. Sark did not look pleased, despite partially cherubic features, "-I do not respond well to impoliteness. I find it impolite that though I promise your safety come to no decline under my supervision, you think to lie to me. Now I will ask you again, and you will be completely honest and thorough in your answer. Failure to comply will result in my aforementioned assurances being rendered null and void." He took a sip of his champagne, clearly enjoying it, though his eyes did not move from Will's own, or even falter, with every gulp.

"If you were not fond of your last trip to the dentist, I can assure you that I have ways of taking teeth that are far less pleasant. The choice is yours." he sipped again, this time through smirking lips, eyes trailing off too comfortably around the large, empty room.

Will could practically feel the blood drain from his face as Sark spoke again. Sydney would have been able to get away with it. She wouldn't have been caught off guard like that in the first place. Then again, she was always expecting something like this. Will was not as fortunate. "Don't...please don't do that. I'll-" he took a second to recover his breath, so he didn't sound as terrified as he felt "-I've heard it before. Syd...she talked about him. But all I know is he was some inventor...smarter than da Vinci. I don't know anything about his stuff, I swear. It's...pulling my teeth isn't going to help. That's all I know. Please just...I don't want to get dragged into this again. Let me go?" He could try his luck again, but he didn't feel too hopeful about his chances with that. Sark wouldn't let him go until he was completely satisfied he knew everything. And the last time had been because Will had trusted that he knew all the facts he needed to fake it. Now...he had nothing. He was completely unprepared for this.

"Splendid. This revised attitude will find us on much friendlier terms." And in some demonic way, Sark seemed genuinely pleased with that concept, but it was better not to attempt fathoming the reasons and intricacies of it. Understanding a psychopath might turn you into one, involuntarily. With Sark, a person always felt and perhaps became, guilty by association. "I have a particular interest in the workings of the man we speak of. I happen to own a number of his workings, many of them prophetic as I'm sure you know." though Sark really didn't care if he did or not, or how much trouble it got him into that he now did.

"Rambaldi spoke of a woman that would bring about great suffering, and catalyze the endgame of whatever it is that his workings conclude in. A great betrayer of those closest to her. Next to that description, he pencilled a photographic likeness of your beloved Miss Bristow." and that was hardly why Will was here, that much was obvious as Sark took another sip, and then another breath to speak, standing up calmly and slowly strutting closer to Will as he tilted his head subtly in thought, to deliver his speech.

Will temporarily lost his expression of panicked fear for one of confusion. What was Sark talking about now? And why did he look...happy? If it could even be called that. "I know you want to get your hands on more of them. The artefact…things." He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and even if people were looking for him, Sark probably was so far ahead of them that it was impossible. "He...wait, Syd?" Will had a flash of a memory. Sydney talking about a dream she had, where someone had told her about a prophecy. That seemed like it had happened in another universe now. But he thought he understood what had been going on. At least in part. That would take some insane prophetic ability on Rambaldi's part. He wasn't sure if he really bought into the idea.

"In some workings I have at my disposal, Rambaldi also talks of certain other possibilities, crucial to this endgame, as well as certain other identities. He speaks of a man close to the betrayer that could have a vital role in all proceedings. Sadly he does not provide an image, but precursors and subsequent tests to validate the identity of this man…he gifts them on a silver platter. Is your reason for being here becoming more apparent to you, Mr. Tippin?" Sark blinked at Will, standing close to him, smiling at him like it was some sort of childish assault set to kill him before he took a knife to his throat.

"I...yeah. I get it." Will visibly tensed up as Sark approached, gripping the edges of the chair's arms. He looked straight ahead in silence for a few moments before glancing sideways at his kidnapper. "So you want to test me...because you think some ancient inventor might have predicted something about me?" He frowned down at his feet. "What kind of tests?" Clearly, Sark would go on with them whether he complied or not. Maybe this way was easier. Maybe it would give him the chance to escape. Then again, maybe Sark was screwing with him, and just planned on using him to get to Sydney. Will couldn't really be sure.

Sark must have had the slight of hand most magicians strived to acquire, because his efforts to reach for the knife now visible in hand where not detected. The gleam of the long, heavy duty knife caused by the swinging light overhead made it seem tens of times sharper. It had already looked pretty sharp. Sark held no real expression. In fact he seemed like he'd be shocked if Will found the sudden presence of this weapon, now often pointing in his direction, to be something of note. For now, he didn't care to explain it. "Your understanding is adequate." He seemed approving of that, however minutely.

"The tests will be painless, relatively. You will not so much as require recovery thereafter. Whatever the results, you will not be harmed or killed on my account." But Will didn't know that such was written, nor that Sark was a fanatic of Rambaldi, enough not to oppose his prophecies. Without warning, Sark darted the knife towards Will, causing the other man to think shock had masked the pain of new wound. Soon he would realise that his fortune was quite opposite to that first believed.

When he dared another glance at Sark, Will jumped, enough to move the chair with him. Neither covered too much distance in the motion. "Jesus, if they're painless, what the Hell's with the knife?" His eyes were wide with panic again, glancing between the blade and Sark's face. It didn't help that he already felt like part of some thriller film with this whole kidnapping and creepy, abandoned room routine. He wasn't reassured by Sark's insistence he was safe in the Brit's custody. Call him cynical, but their last encounter had pretty much dampened that possibility. He winced, looking away from what he thought was going to be a slash to his skin, glancing back when no pain sprang up as expected.

"You wish to be more comfortable while we speak, I'd imagine?" Sark stated the obvious as he sent his knife to slice at the other constraint keeping Will's wrist tightly pinned to the metal arm of the chair he sat on. He crouched and did the same around Will's ankles, quickly. He then returned to his own seat. "Please, come closer if you'd like. You'll find I am quite personable given the right setting." Though this was hardly a nightclub or speakeasy. What was it with Sark exactly?

* * *

"You're...um. Yeah...I...ok, this is-" really weird, unexpected? Will didn't finish, instead rubbing his wrists as they were released, his fight or flight response trying to rush him at the door that Sark now sat in the way of. He eyeballed it, not even sure if it was locked, and if it was, from what side. Not that it mattered. Sark would have him pinned before he could even reach it, and if by some miracle he did, there were probably a bunch of briefcase ninjas just outside it who really would beat his wimpy ass.

"I'm...really confused right now. You can't blame me, right?" Maybe Sark could, though. He didn't work like normal people. But for whatever reason, Will was starting to feel like he could at least trust that for this moment, he was safe. He just didn't know how long it would last. "So...what are we talking about?"

Sark appeared to be immune to any futility on Will's part, not that he was unaware of any of the impulsive thoughts running through his captive's mind. He was trained to know that, and furthermore the unique specifics of that within individual personalities. But then, Sark had orchestrated this scenario perfectly to achieve desired results. Will's current runaway thoughts were irrelevant and temporal. Ultimately, he would subject to the situation, Sark creating a similar scenario to one that had traumatized him, only making it more acceptable and in fact comfortable. It was funny how most human beings thought they were in some control of their responses to the world around them. Almost adorable, if it wasn't idiotic.

"We're discussing the terms of your capture. They can be friendly, or they can be quite the opposite. If you are compliant, and promise not to create issue, we can replace the current setting with a regal penthouse suite, in which you would be afforded a wide range of luxuries. Otherwise, your surroundings and treatment could become quite a measure more...enduring." Sark sipped again, glancing at Will as he finished his words, this time with bright eyes, as if to invite Will in on the joke, expecting him to have the same sense of humour as him, it seemed, which was impossible even among other becrazed villain types.

"You are quite adorable when you are fretful. Perhaps I should have thought twice about the details of first contact this time around." he eyed the empty champagne glass, pointing out with an insistent brow that it was still there.

"Hey, I'm all for friendly. I just...I want this done with as soon as it can. With all the teeth I still have..." Will tried to be comfortable, but it was hard when it felt like you were let loose in a shark tank with bloody fish guts stuffed in your wetsuit. "I can…whatever you need. I came as far as Paris before-" not that it had been fun, or anything like a vacation "-so I'll be...good. It's not like I can call for help or anything." Any bugs the CIA or Jack, or Hell, even Syd, may have planted would have been found and removed. And it would be a snowball's chance in Hell that he still had his phone. So for now, if it meant his survival and comfort, he could play along. Even if every hair on his body was still standing on end. Will wasn't terrified now, though. Just...freaked. Really freaked. Okay, maybe more than just freaked. Something.

"I really don't want any trouble. I can't go through it again, what happened last time, and you're going to get what you want out of me anyway." He followed Sark's gaze to the flute, hesitating before taking it, pouring himself some. "This isn't...you don't have some immunity to anything in this that will...do anything to me?" Yes, Sark had promised he wouldn't kill Will, but the reporter was going to be a little on edge for a while. "I...ok. I don't know, I think that sedative was…a good choice." He couldn't imagine how badly he would have lost it if Sark had shown up on his doorstep. Or in his house. Will would not have been taken along so easily. At least he believed he wouldn't.

"Good. Well then, I will see to it you are kept comfortable. Personally if necessary." and something about that last part seemed questionable, as it left Sark's crafty mouth. Whether it was the glint in his eyes, or the taste inspired by the particular shape of his lips right then, was uncertain. "Do you have any birthmarks, William?" he still didn't care if Will liked the use of his full name or not, in fact Sark said it like a close relative who had done so for years, knowing that Will didn't like it. He ignored Will's question about the champagne being spiked. Obviously not, he wasn't an amateur. Besides, he was not quite so low as to need to do that. Sark greatest arsenal was his mind. It got him anywhere he wanted to go. Being pretty and suave didn't hurt either.

Will ignored the chill that he got from Sark's statements. How he was just so...cool about everything. It made him uneasy, sharing drinks with a psycho like this. "How long is it going to take? They've got to be just...little things. Right?" He tried to make it a polite inquiry, and not a desperate attempt to find out how long he was going to be in captivity. Wishful thinking.

He stood again and walked over to Will, ushering him with two fingers to stand also. Both of his hands then yanked outwardly at Will's shirt, popping the buttons. He pushed the remainder down, amused that though clearly taken off guard, Will's arms involuntarily assisted in unravelling the shirt from them. Sark then investigated the exposed flesh with close looks accompanied by his hands. He went back to his seat and took a relaxed position, one ankle rested upon opposite knee, elbow propped against the arm of his own chair, hand holding his chin. "Remove the rest."

"I've got one on my hip, it's kind of just a...something. I think that's- woah, hey, what are-" Will didn't really fight, in fact it didn't feel like he was resisting at all. "The...rest?" He pulled the shirt from behind him, letting it fall onto the floor beside his chair. Will just stared for a moment, but it was like trying to stare down a cobra. Simply not happening in any lifetime. After what seemed like an hour but was actually only minutes, Will broke the gaze, biting his tongue.

Just bite the bullet, do these tests, and he'd get out of here quicker and without being hurt. Sounded easy, but it wasn't that simple; or was it? He slid his trainers off, taking the socks off and stuffing them down into the shoes. His slacks followed, leaving Will standing in his boxer shorts, realizing that the room wasn't quite as cold as he'd imagined it would be, or was that just adrenalin? And now he realized how much more awkward it could feel with Sark staring like that. Didn't this guy ever blink? Now would be a good time to start.

Sark took an initial look at what was now presented to him, though there was no point in being thorough yet. Not until everything necessary was available for investigation. "The rest." he said, having not changed position, though the rolling of his eyes over Will had been very penetrating even in small dosage. "Some time in the immediate future would be good." a silence passed, and after a number of moments, Sark began to smile, somewhat amused at Will, who seemed so awkward and unsettled. Sark couldn't relate to that disposition, which is what interested and entertained him the most.

"Don't tell me you have issues showering at the gym, Mr. Tippin. We're no longer in High School, you and I." No. This was definitely not High School.

Will's mouth had opened to protest, except he realized how stupid of an idea that was. Now, though, he couldn't be sure if Sark really was testing anything except how far Will was going to go for his release. "No...the guys at the gym don't make a habit of kidnapping and torturing people. Me being people." Will glanced down and slid his thumbs under the elastic waistband. He was really going to do this, wasn't he?

"It'd help if you didn't...stare like that. It's…disturbing." Like a large cat that was batting around it's latest catch before mercilessly tearing it to shreds. Will pushed his underwear down, stepping out of it as it fell to the floor. Maybe it was actually a little too warm in here, if he thought about it. He found trouble meeting Sark's eyes, which he was sure were taking in as much as they could. "Ok, that's…everything. Ok?"

"Hmmm." Sark waggled his finger towards himself once or twice to usher Will over, inspecting him a little more closely, and using slight pushes from his hands to indicate what way Will should turn and position himself for him, and when. Using one hand to pull one of Will's buttocks away from the other, Sark took a brief but pointed look into the widened crack, taking note of any marks found. The first part of the search was over. He had Will turn to face him again.

"So far so good. However, you're going to have to lift up the crown jewels," Sark pointed towards Will's nether regions, circling them, without really looking. He'd seen enough of those, for now. "-unless you would rather I do it for you." he smirked and took another sip of champagne, knowing that he'd have to refill soon at this rate. This was hardly like work; he was getting to drink and be entertained.

"You're not quite the frail little man your behaviour promotes you to be, are you Mr. Tippin?" he sounded slightly warmer than usual as he said that. It was easy to think that he'd meant to comfort Will in his exposed position, out of sincere human emotion, but logic would dictate otherwise. Still, Sark was a hard one to pin.

Will found himself almost wishing that he could just go back to the last time they'd met. At least then he knew what to expect. This, though? He felt more vulnerable than when his teeth had been ripped from gums with no hesitation. But was it just because he was naked, or because it was Sark he had to do it for. "What the Hell...what is so interesting in my ass?" Will glanced over his shoulder with a frown, biting down his words before they could escape again. He was just a little anxious about all of this. Yes, there were these supposed tests, not that Will had any real clue of what they were.

"Last person I'd ever think I'd be getting this personal with-" Will muttered, turning as Sark instructed. "Nono I'm...I've got it." Maybe someday, after the CIA had saved the world from all of this, he and Syd could laugh about these things. Right now, he wasn't really in the mood to part with a chuckle. "I...I do fine. And it's not like I'm used to any of this. You'd think I would be, but-" he blinked, finding that he was actually talking to Sark. Not just base level interacting. That was weirder than any event preceding. Will shook his head and lifted himself carefully, relieved to at least have some sort of cover. Not that it mattered; Sark had already seen all of it. "So...um...what are you,,,looking for?" that sounded too ridiculous to say, given the situation.

Sark tilted his head to peer underneath Will's undercarriage. After checking the soles of Will's feet and between his toes, holding his ankles to give support and assist with balance, he returned to previous position, getting comfortable once more, nodding to Will appreciatively with a glance through joined, spread hands in pyramid formation. "You're not here to ask questions, Mr. Tippin, but instead to provide answers. Few of which have just been attained." Sark gestured to Will's seat with a hand, which was not only an invitation to take a seat once more but also to re-dress himself.

"New clothing will be provided for you before we leave this facility, and for the duration of your compliance with our testing." Sark assured that Will wouldn't be taken out of this building, wherever it was, looking like an actual heroin addict. He took a moment to eye Will who turned from him to get dressed. He found himself licking his lips. When he thought about it, Will was much more appetizing than his first thought, which would have him bland or even without taste at all. This fine champagne was paling in comparison.

"Ok, fine. I guess that's fair." Will dressed himself, feeling weird that he didn't feel violated. But...that was a good thing, right? He couldn't tell. It really was too bad that the first time had to have gone so horrifically wrong. Wait, no, that wasn't a reasonable thought. This was Sark. Sark was the bad guy. The really bad guy. "Sounds like you're actually going to take care of me. Considering who you are...and that I can't even get a real job with-" Will cleared his throat "-it's just strange." He was fully dressed now, though his shirt wasn't going to close properly.

"I'm going to be frank with you, William. In light of certain proceedings, I find myself quite taken with you, despite your co-dependant, omni-pedestrian mindset. You are, for lack of a better or more reasonable description, quite attractive. And considering you do not work out, your rear is positively...enticing." and if Will was to look over in a new panic, to wonder if what he was hearing came from a true place, he'd find only Sark's eyes, burning through him with some cold brand of mischief.

"You...what? Ok..." He really did feel awkward now, considering he'd been ignoring Sark's looks and little comments. Maybe he should have taken them a little more seriously. But if Sark had been planning on doing anything, he would have done it, right? "Look, I'm flattered, but...you did kidnap me. And you had me tortured last time. So I'm sorry if I don't exactly…say anything back. And I'm not-." His panic was building again, not nearly as fast as last time, nor into as big of a thing. He wanted to ask anybody else if Sark actually ever broke eye contact. It was unsettling, to say the least.

"You are right to be flattered-" Sark established the fact that he did in fact think quite a lot of himself; Will being quite privileged to receive any sort of compliment from him, "-and in all fairness, you have not yet had the privilege of returning the favour. As of yet, I am in no state of undress." Sark was so cunning; his words harsh in that fact where his expressions seemed so devoid of any tells, whatsoever. He radioed through something too silent to be heard from Will's distance, although the electrical static of the communication between handheld communication devices was quite obvious, as it clicked and squelched to and fro.

"Such things can be rectified in due course." Sark smiled in such a riveting yet effortless way, Will seeming such a lovely little project to him, perhaps.

Will sat in his chair, staring with his mouth half opened, as if to make a retaliation to the statement. He ate up some time by taking a few sips of the champagne he hadn't even touched yet. It was good. It tasted expensive, but he couldn't really expect less when Sark was involved, right? "I didn't really mean...it's fine. I'm...you're not the one being tested, so there's not really a reason to." He shifted in his seat, looking down at the champagne glass, and then the rotting walls around them, even glancing up at the flickering bulb that swayed lazily above their heads before looking at Sark again.

"Um...so are we...going?" He nodded at the radio Sark had used, not sure what had just been said. "Because these tests...they're gonna take a while, right? So...it'd be good to go and...get those started." Sark couldn't have been serious, right? Will had to wonder, because he certainly sounded serious about it. Inviting Will to see him naked in the not too distant future. It wouldn't be a pain to his eyes, he was sure, but...wait, why was he sure of that? Even bad guys had to have good qualities, he guessed. Will would have preferred this train of thought stop itself, though.

Sark was tickled by Will. He was like a lab rat to his experiment, the only difference to the norm being that scientists took into account the wellbeing and nature of the animals they tested upon; Sark lacked that capacity, for the most part. "So...you are aware that you like other boys then, Mr. Tippin?" Sark placed his glass down, apparently tired of drinking for the time being; for someone like him, even the most aged and expensive of poisons got boring after a while. Adrenalin was more Sark's thing, and psychological accomplishment.

"Of course, your basic profiling indicates such. And as for your more thorough psychological assessments...well, I am polite enough not to emasculate you." Sark was genuine in that he didn't mean to upset or discomfort Will, but then he seemed as pleased as a monkey jumping around treetops, even though he knew he might be.

The reporter sputtered on his champagne, wiping his mouth afterwards. "I'm sorry, but...what?" Sark wasn't exactly known for his subtleties, but that was just so left field, Will wasn't sure how to respond. How had this night ended up here? All he'd wanted was to have a nice dinner with Francie and Sydney and then pass out after having a beer and watching old reruns of some forgotten show. "Ok, first...I don't. I've never...not with a guy. I...no. This isn't even...that can't be part of this whole...deal thing." Will glanced down at his shirt, wiping away the champagne that had spilled there in his surprise. Sure, it was one thing for Sark to tell him how attractive he was, but that accusation...based on what, exactly?

"And I like girls. Women. They're my…gender of preference." He frowned, wondering what kind of profiling Sark based this on. "I...don't see how anything I've done indicates…anything like that. And I'm pretty sure I'd know what I like." After all, it was his mind and body and what not. His discomfort didn't seem to ease, though, as he just found himself more fidgety, trying to find a seated position that didn't make him feel so awkward.

"I don't know why you'd even think that so…can we...drop it? Please?" He added the last word hastily, since the last thing he wanted to do was piss off Sark. For the moment, he believed that was because he feared for his life. Which was a very valid assumption to make.

"Interesting use of the word preference, Mr. Tippin." Sark stroked the back of his head a few times, leaning it forwards for a while, before returning it to esteemed position. "Rest assured William, that I am hardly the type to force myself upon you. For example, observe my attire, my demeanour, my elegant approach and accent; do you really think I need to take a person captive in order to have them spread themselves eagle for me?" Sark closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with all of the fingers of one hand, a breath of laughter escaping him as he leaned into the touch, to one side.

"If you really insist that we disembark from such topics, that can be taken into consideration. But first tell me; Mr. Tippin...do you not find me attractive?" Sark smiled like the cat that got the cream, already.

* * *

Funny that Sark was reassuring Will that he wouldn't be raped in his time here. That would have fallen under general harm, he supposed. "No, I guess you wouldn't, really...you're just a bad guy in every other way." Even super villains had fans, so of course someone like Sark would be able to get almost anyone he wanted. "Wait, you're not-" he frowned, tilting his head slightly, trying to figure out if Sark had really just implied that Will would give in with the right amount of persuasion. The guy talked a big game, but Will could at least try to feel offended at the insinuation, right?

"Oh come on, how is any of this-" but arguing against it was about as useful as arguing that an old oak remove itself from your current path "-ok. You're...you've got the whole...sophisticated European thing going for you, and that's pretty much attractive to everyone. And...ok, so yes, I think you're attractive. You've got…good…bone structure? But that doesn't mean you're right about me…or that I think you're right about me. Ok? Because...well, it's just...not. But I'm not insecure enough that I can't admit you're an attractive…that you…look good." He cleared his throat, sipping at his champagne again. At least this might take the edge off, just a little.

"What I am is not quite so black and white. You of all people should be able to comprehend that." Sark even showed his teeth a little this time, as he grinned widely, like he'd just won first prize at the biggest smarmy bastard contest. He wasn't evil though, to his broad understanding. Those not involved in this business tended to have such limited vision. "Ask yourself why your only real friends are women. Why the so-called object of your affection is an unattainable women with most of her traits belonging to a masculine stereotype. Why in the entirety of your adult life, you have had no long term relationships and in recent years only one sexual relationship with a woman, which ended badly and was not quite so sexual as outsiders may have believed." Sark was too quick with his intel, like there'd be no point trying to keep up in arguing against it, if it was untrue in the first place.

"By no means am I judging you. That is hardly your reason for being here. I simply mean to offer you certain opportunities during your stay, all of which would remain entirely confidential. You do realise that I am well trained enough in the realms of psychology to be quite aware that you are secretly imagining scenarios, regardless of whether or not you are prepared to pursue them." Sark rubbed softly at his lips with four fingertips for a while, his attentions directed softly but surely towards his tender captive.

"Ok, that's just…no fair-" Will tried to protest, his own argument holding less credibility than his shattered reputation "-they're my only friends because of the heroin problem." Which wasn't really a problem, but Francie had stuck by his side for it. She didn't even know the truth behind it. It was real to her, and that meant something. "How...also unfair...she was an intern, Sark, seriously. And how do you even know..." Will frowned and kept trying to interject reason into the claims. Damn him, if Will had that kind of ability to dig up dirt on people, he would have made it in investigative journalism big time. He seemed slightly panicked again, remaining silent as he tried to determine if Sark was bluffing about that last claim. Even if he was, there was no way Will could tell.

"Opportunities...you make it sound like you're offering me a job, not...not sex. Which is..." He couldn't help it now, since Sark had mentioned it, the thoughts that flickered into brief existence, which he hastily snuffed out, as if Sark had direct access into his thought waves. Maybe he did. "Ok, but...I also imagined myself solving murder cases and uncovering conspiracies, and that turned out great." And at Sark's hand, more or less. He realized too late what that implied, or inadvertently admitted, but there was no way to take back the statement, nor the embarrassed shock that passed over his expression for a minute.

"I...look, it could just be pure Stockholm Syndrome, right? I mean, you're being…not killing me, and it's...that's just how it works." Because no sane person would actually think of Sark that way. Not when they were so differently aligned.

"Money is hardly an object. I can pay you, if that defines your position in a way that assists your resolve." And this time, Sark was just being clever with his tongue, and making no secret of it; yet his sarcasm held truths to it, unlike other brands. "If you truly think yourself my captive, subdued into a false sense of obligation towards his captor, then I would no sooner put my hands upon you than roll around in a pit of broken glass." Sark stated with no sentiment behind his words, fingers of both hands interlocked now, chin resting atop them slightly.

"If the idea of kissing me offends you, then by all means, do not approach my seat. Otherwise, feel quite welcome. Either way, we will be making exit shortly." Though honestly it still peppered his mood agreeably, Sark was beginning to tire of the current topic. If Will was not game, then Sark was not player. He cared not to coerce anybody into his bed. It was a good place to be. No, a great place to be. If invitation was not fondly accepted, Sark needn't spend afterthoughts on the fact. He had better things, and people, to do.

"Woah, I may be a ruined reporter slash recovering heroin addict, but I'm not a…man…whore. If I do anything, it's because I want to, ok?" Will had been too worried about being seen like something he thought he wasn't. But...it sort of made sense. And Sark was making it seem enticing. He tried reminding himself that it was just what Sark did, what he had to do. But then, he seemed so genuine. For the most part.

"It's...real. You promised I wasn't going to be hurt, and you haven't done anything. And-" he shook his head, breathing out a laugh of disbelief "-you...nothing goes past...here." Here being between the two of them, especially since Will thought he may as well do something with his time. He didn't want to offend Sark. Because again, he wanted to remain in one piece. That was the real reason, right? Maybe there was something to that psychoanalysis Sark did without even trying. The thought of kissing Sark...well, it only disturbed him because of who the man was, not what he was. And even then, it didn't trouble him enough that he couldn't at least...try. If he didn't, he'd never know, would he?

"I don't know if you actually blackmail, but...please don't." Will stood, taking steps, only a little hesitant, towards Sark's seat. One kiss wasn't going to kill him, and he could be in a much worse situation right now. Will bent forward slightly and rested one hand on a metal arm, looking as if he was still trying to figure out why, exactly, he was doing this.

"The thing about men, William, is that they can lie. To themselves, to one another. Especially men like me, if there is a certain means to an end. I would argue that in no time or culture, is it possible that a kiss can do quite the same." He looked so smug, knowing how well and purposefully he kissed, especially when Will tasted so fresh, and innocent and nervously ripe against his forceful lips, which did not appear quite so fierce as they were. Sark kept Will tethered to him by one grip to his shirt, administered by a killer's fist, the type that didn't struggle to pull the sturdy trigger of heavy duty firearms, no matter how delicate it looked when not in such use. And then he released, looking at the gloss he'd left on Will's lips, his adorable captive looking so lost to a dream in those moments. It was beyond adorable. It had been quite some time since Sark had partaken of a virgin, without paying in some means of currency first.

"Not bad." Sark continued to bombard Will's face with his winning smile, not that the other man would know, because his eyes were still closed, which the handsome terrorist found to be irresistibly mouth watering. "You've been missing out, William. Allow me to help make up for lost time, if you will." He was cocky and colourfully playful in his tone, which assumed the deal was already done. "And it's Julian. Julian Sark." He did not often share his first name with others, especially simple pedestrians like Will.

Even knowing what was about to happen, Will found himself caught off guard, eyes wide and blinking in the first moment of the kiss. He then realized that he was kissing back, and that he'd shut his eyes to actually savour it. Sark's mouth wasn't as cruel as the words that passed through it, and it was definitely skilled. That was something Will couldn't deny, even if he wanted to. To his great surprise, he didn't want to. He didn't know what to do in the moments that passed after, except listen to the hypnotic tones of that rich accent as it insisted things he had just been ignoring, sounding better and more believable than before. Why did Sark want this, anyway? Too many questions bounced around in Will's head, all silenced when Sark introduced himself by more than his known name. Will's eyelids rose halfway, eyebrows knitting at the blonde Brit.

"Julian...that's…so weird. You…have a first name. It's...it fits though." He was aware of how much he was breathing now. Could Sark tell that his heartbeat had sped up just a bit, too? Will kind of hoped not. "I...ok. Ok, I...this is...unexpected. In so many ways, I don't even-" Will searched Sark's face for an answer, but found none, except that knowing smirk. Sark had known what was going to happen all along, hadn't he? Will refused to think himself guilty of the same.

"Is it ok if I still…just…call you Sark?" He couldn't imagine that the terrorist preferred his first name, going by the other so often. Wait, this was a terrorist still. And Sydney's enemy. He wasn't supposed to like that kiss so much. And he should definitely care that he had. So why didn't he?

"Oh William, please-" Sark smarmed, with a slight tilting of his head, one side to another again, looking pleased as fucking punch, "-a kiss, for all it is worth, is still just a kiss. If you are to be speechless, at least wait until I'm fucking you." he batted his eyelids sarcastically, before taking to stand behind his chair. His smile was the first invitation for Will to follow him, followed by a slight gesturing of both his hands, in accordance with a lean of his torso. As if the men outside were telepathic, the bolt on the other side of the thick steel door was dislodged from it's hinge. Of course, this must have been time sensitive, and Sark, able to count and scope each moment that passed exactly to the fractions of a second. That had to be it. "Follow me, Mr. Tippin." he finally stated, devoid of obligation, moral or determinable intent.

* * *

**END**


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